In Spring
by tangerineforest
Summary: An inversion of the establishing scene. ItoshikixFuura.


The sky was blue. Benign, cool blue but cloudless with a hot, white opal hanging in the heavens. A young man was on his way to work, a teacher. He wasn't paid enough as he should have been but it was the attachment to the youth and future of Japan which instilled in him such a sense of pride that he was willing to overlook a lesser salary than his friends.

A stray breeze scattered the carpet of petals. Powerful, young cherry trees lined the streets, emblazoned with pink fire. They were a good metaphor, shockingly beautiful and transitory; as life often was. That was the little thought of the day that he would recount to his students to tide them over until it was time to go home.

It was just then, as he was making his way towards school that something stood out of the ordinary. It was a dark blur which looked alien among those branches. He blinked many times, was it a product of the harsh glare today? Or something else?

Using his hand to shade his line of sight, what was indistinct ... had become clear. There was a young woman, no- a schoolgirl suspended from one of the shorter trees.

His knees fell beneath him and he was barely able to maintain his balance. His eyelids fluttered open, they were dark, eyelashes wet with tears from the stinging wind and the petals, irritating and an eyesore. He ran to the foot of the tree upon which she hung from.

Gasping in ragged breaths, not to be deterred, he escaped under the shadow of her lifeless body. Looking up, he spotted her fixed features, her limp head. She did not look a day over seventeen. Her eyes were glassy and full of water. The skin, grey and the tongue swollen to an improbable size, hanging out. The coils binding her neck were thick and strong. She had rehearsed this many times, he had thought. She was colourless amongst the colourful. A missing puzzle piece preventing perfection.

He couldn't fathom why a person so young, certainly not one of the invincible school girls he had seen frequenting Tokyo, would succumb to herself? But then he remembered, himself as a teenager with all these conflicting internal emotions unable to find a release and how easy it was to run away with these feelings. How easy it was to commit the unthinkable when you are that vulnerable.

His heart hurt. That could've been one of his students. Was hers a lost face in the background? A left out student who they all pitied but overlooked out of shame? Or negligence? No, surely she was the student of a teacher somewhere else in the vicinity. But this loss wasn't something he would ever feel the brunt of and the mere thought of not being able to ... was the most grounding thought. All that would be left would be a white vase filled with pale flowers on her desk. Followed by the funeral they'd attend out of courtesy and the inevitable student to take her place as it all blew over.

He decided not to go to school today. Maybe he would never go back to school. His confidence shattered, the sun felt no longer welcoming but harsh rays threatened his skin, the trees were all leaning one way to snap the branches causing hazards for passersby. Even severe injuries or another death. Somehow the air had a cold touch to it, he was too shocked to start crying and turned the other way.

When he arrived home, he did not find comfort, only a messy, lonely room housed for a single person. His pupils who he viewed as genuine friends were simply feigning professional interest. Schooling had changed since his time, learning was an ability to be maximized, not cherished. To receive optimum results were the reasons, not for your own fulfillment. Seeing your own name in those few minimal numbers was glorified over simply things like friendship and love.

The young man then realized that he did not have connections outside his school life, that he was friendly to all but a friend to none. Had been to same school too long but no one asked how his night had been and had meant it, that he had no close friends, no confidants and that he was nothing more than a passing imprint on other peoples' lives and for the first time, felt despair.


End file.
